The library of his mansion smelled of old books and polished wood. Warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, making tiny dust particles sparkle in the air.
Rafael stood near the large wooden desk, holding an old book. He stared at it quietly, even though he couldn't remember buying it.
The heavy wooden door opened slowly. Aria stepped inside, her footsteps muffled by the Persian rug.
She didn't speak; she simply watched him. Rafael turned, his expression softening the moment his eyes landed on her.
"You're hiding," Aria said, a playful tilt to her lips.
Rafael closed the book and stepped toward her.
"The house feels too full today. Too many eyes."
"The staff are just doing their jobs, Rafael."
He stopped inches from her, the heat radiating between them.
Aria reached out, her fingers grazing the cuff of his linen shirt.
"Is that so?"
"I feel... anchored." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low vibration.
